


Grown-Up

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Timelines, Angst, Birthday, Broken Homura, Dark, Depressing, Drinking, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, No happy endings for Homura, Pining, Post Finale, Psychological Trauma, References to Suicide, Sad, Smoking, Star-crossed, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy Birthday, Akemi Homura.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grown-Up

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even... I just finished watching PMMM. I have so many feelings. This ficlet kind of happened of its own accord.
> 
> Note: I am basing this solely off the TV show's 12 episode arch, and not the movies/game/etc.
> 
> Also note: this takes some liberties about potential lifespan of a Puella Magi, even in the demon!timeline, in terms of how active they would be (and for how long,) as well as Madoka's potential powers (I imply that she could, in theory, find some way to come back.) And yeah. This is very sad.

* * *

There are nights when things are quiet, when there's nothing to hunt. The world reduces, in those moments of tranquility, to the simplest sensations. The heat of a flame when a match is struck, the burn of liquor in the back of her throat, the taste of cheap cigarettes.

The TV is on, but Homura isn't watching. The glow of it illuminates the otherwise dark innards of her shitty apartment. Some ash falls from the end of her cigarette onto her bare thigh. She doesn't flinch, but looks down and watches it smolder against her skin. Her legs are prickly - she'll have to shave them soon. Not tonight. Not when she doesn't trust herself to still the blade when it gets too close to the skin.

Kyubey isn't around this evening. He may not feel emotion, but he knows when he's not wanted, and socializing with Homura now would be counterproductive.

There's a game show on TV. Homura has no interest in watching other people's happiness. She gets up from the sagging sofa and steps out onto the balcony.

She lets the door slide shut behind her. It's cold, much too cold to be out in a tank top and panties, but Homura doesn't care. She's feverish with alcohol, her skin flushed and warm, and she smokes and stares out at the skyline.

_35 years old._

What kind of life has she made for herself? Relationships are hard for Puella Magi; sometimes impossible and very unlikely to work out, but she hasn't even tried. She is drying up, old and withered like a husk, untouched and alone.

_Happy birthday, Akemi Homura._

There have been ample opportunities to move on. Anyone in her situation would be expected to, after such a long time of grieving. Yet that is just it - no one is in her situation. No one could possibly understand that you can't fully grieve for someone who isn't really dead. Kaname Madoka is everywhere, beautiful and vital and omnipresent. She isn't rotting away in the ground somewhere. Homura doesn't care that there are 'plenty more fish in the sea' - Madoka IS the sea. Settling for one fish, when you could have the whole sea, or at least a faded memory of it, seems cheap.

There had been a girl this morning. Every so often, as is common with those bereft, Homura sees someone who reminds her, in some small way, of her cherished Madoka, but they are always a poor copy of the real thing - never good enough to warrant investigation, or to ease the aching in her heart.

This time it had been different. This time, as Homura had stood in line at the grocery store, she saw her through the window. Unlike the other look-alikes, this girl wasn't a teenager - she had to be Homura's age, her figure heavier, mature, her rose-colored tresses gathered up in a bun. She was looking through the window and met Homura's gaze, and looked as though she'd seen a ghost.

Homura hadn't had time to think. She'd mumbled something about changing her mind, set down her few items, and rushed out of the store. The woman called after her, 'Homura-chan!' and bile rose in Homura's throat, but she walked as fast as she could in the other direction until she was off the main street, whereupon she broke into a run. She ran until she could taste blood along the flat of her tongue, and kept running until she was safely inside her apartment.

It wasn't her. It couldn't have been.

After all this time, Homura isn't sure she wants it to be.

So much time has passed. The beautiful girl she remembers would be at a loss when faced with the woman Homura has become, empty and hard. Her pining, her devoted yearning, the way her blood still warms at the thought of dear, sweet, Madoka... so many years like this have changed her.

She swallows hard - it feels as though she can't breathe. She throws her cigarette butt into the wind and clenches her jaw against a sob.

_Happy Birthday, Akemi Homura._

 


End file.
